Dreams
by Emma Redman
Summary: Elder McKinley reflects on his past and visits some very painful memories during the night. Omniscient POV. Rated T for some awkward boyish sexual themes. References to real life Rory O'Malley.
1. Dreams of Song

When the dream came back, McKinley woke up at the exact moment he had always woken up at, the same as many years ago, realizing that he couldn't allow it to continue. He awoke with a start, perspiring slightly, out of nervousness, arousal and most of all fear. It was the same dream he'd had every day of the summer after fifth grade. He wanted its return to be a joyous, wonderful reminiscence. But this dream, this vision, this idea, this very thought that constantly pervaded the underside of his consciousness—was the first step he had ever taken towards damnation.

He had kept it out of his brain for ten years now, and in its place the hell dreams had settled. He accepted the punishment for his sin, but felt with a bit of shame that the island dream was far better than the pitch black void of Satan's realm. The dream was peaceful and beautiful; it was everything he had ever wanted, to be in a world of his own with the one he loved most in the world. He lay in bed silently, thinking about that boy who had changed his life.

Steve Blade had arrived at his elementary school at the very beginning of fifth grade. Connor McKinley had been a resident of the town his entire life, but he wasn't very popular. He was a small child, a late bloomer, and as the other ten-year-olds discovered a new sense of superiority as the upperclassmen of primary school, Connor couldn't help but feel left behind.

But that fateful first P.E. class presented for the first time a shining new dawn—this new boy, whom nobody knew and nobody quite cared about. He was shy and didn't talk much; he was by no means unattractive, but rather plain-looking. Connor caught a glimpse of him as he walked into the gymnasium, and didn't think twice about it. However, destiny has a way of forcing itself upon individuals, and here it materialized as a tennis game. The new boy was given to Connor as a partner by the P.E. coach. These two quiet yet hardly restful souls embraced that morning.

They sat together at lunch. The cafeteria was serving pizza. Connor had a plain cheese slice, and Steve ordered one with pineapple and ham.

"I've never had that style before," Connor said. "What's it like?"

Steve took a bite and scrunched up his nose in dissatisfaction. "It's nothing like back home. But it's okay." During the course of the ensuing conversation, Connor learned that Steve's parents had just moved from Oahu. His father had been a professor there at BYU, but he was offered a better teaching opportunity at the university in Salt Lake.

Over the next few weeks their chats grew healthily and soon blossomed into a thriving friendship. Connor and Steve did everything together; they spent the weekends at each others' houses, and went on outings with each others' families. Connor's mother was ecstatic that her son had found a playmate, and Steve's parents were equally pleased that their child had been so easily absorbed into the school. Seasons passed in a blur of joy, and spring came. May was coming to a close and the school was preparing their annual talent show. Steve and Connor had just retired to Connor's room after dinner and they were discussing the show.

Connor loved to sing. It was his secret passion. The people at church acknowledged that he had talent when he would sing hymns and soprano arias from various cantatas, but when his mom was at work he stood on his bed and blasted CDs of old classics, belting at the top of his lungs. She seemed to disapprove when she caught him listening to gospel and rock n' roll, the good stuff from the fifties.

Connor had come to the conclusion that his mother never wanted him to pursue his dreams, even if it meant succeeding at the most monotonous, despicable tasks. Easy for her to say; she worked in an office all day. Connor didn't know if she ever had dreams to pursue, but he was sure that any remaining aspirations had faded away with time.

"There's this song I want to sing. _Sittin' by the Dock of the Bay._ You know that one?"

"I've heard it before. You might as well," Steve said.

"I'm just afraid it'll have too much…_soul_," Connor said. "I sing it like that. I go all out. My mom never wants me to sing like that."

"Well, do you want to sing it for me?"

At this Connor instantly recoiled. Sing it…for Steve? And then it hit him like a fifty-pound weight—if he couldn't even perform something for his best friend in the privacy of his bedroom, how could he perform in front of the entire school, in front of hundreds of strangers? He felt the butterflies at the walls of his stomach, and a shade of red covered his face. He clutched at his midsection and felt suddenly nauseous.

"I can't," he stuttered.

"What, do you think I'm going to judge you or something?" Steve said, slapping his shoulder. "You know I'd never do that. I'm your best friend." He smiled sweetly, and Connor turned around to look at him. "Everything you do is perfect-you're perfect!"

Connor could swear his heart sprang up, flipped and landed in his throat. "R-really?" he asked.

"Of course!" Steve exclaimed, and hugged his friend. Connor returned the hug somewhat half-heartedly, preoccupied with slowing down his heavy breathing and paling his blushed complexion.

Steve said he was perfect. And as long as that's what Steve thought, why would anyone else's opinion matter? So he mustered up the courage to sing the song, and all the while Connor was singing, Steve watched him with a wide, proud smile, and applauded when he was finished.

When Connor performed at the talent show two weeks later, he at first only watched Steve's bright smiling face. But then he began to notice other smiles, and a few second graders started swaying back and forth to the music, and finally he saw his mother in the back row. His mother—she couldn't have expected this. Connor hadn't told her what he was singing, and he certainly didn't tell her that she had to go. It was true that he would be disappointed if she wasn't there, but at the same time he felt a jolt of panic when he saw her.

And then a smile crept onto one corner of her mouth, and soon she was grinning, and a tear welled in her eye and a tear welled in Connor's eye too. And after he had hit the last note, and finished with a broad Motown-esque flourish, she was the first to jump to her feet and clap, cheering. Connor looked back at Steve as he took his bows and their eyes met, knowing the unspeakable joy they both felt. When the event concluded, mother and son embraced with hearts full of love for the first time in months.


	2. Dreams of Sun

Connor was sitting at the piano plucking out some blues improvisation. He was writing a song for Steve before school let out, a little celebration of the last year; he thought it appropriate, seeing as how Steve had taught him to reject repression and reveal his true self. Suddenly the phone rang. Connor swung his legs around the bench, leapt to his feet and dashed to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Con, it's Steve. You need to come over," came the voice from the other line. He sounded as if he'd been crying. Connor was confused, but told him he'd be over in a heartbeat. There were a few blocks between their houses, but it was only a ten-minute walk. Connor pulled on his jacket and hurried out the door, leaving a note for his mother.

He arrived at his friend's house and rang the doorbell. Steve's dad opened the door.

"Where's Steve?"

"In his room." And Connor rushed in without a word, maneuvering under the man's arm and down the hallway. He opened the door cautiously and discovered a suspiciously empty-looking room.

Steve was curled up under his covers. His head was hung, his dark hair covering his puffy red eyes. Connor sat beside him and put a hand on his knee. Steve looked up, and seeing that his friend had come, hugged him desperately. It looked like he was about to break into sobs again.

"Con, we're leaving," he said quietly into Connor's shoulder.

"W-what? Leaving?"

"My parents told me about an hour ago. We're going back to Oahu next week, after school's done."

Connor, now realizing the gravity of the situation, felt the tears coming as well. "No. No. Steve."

"Yes," Steve replied in a choked cry. The two sat in silence until they had finished crying, clutched at each other, held on for dear life. They didn't want this to end. It was too good to end, but of course, perhaps it was too good to be true. The song wasn't done yet. Steve couldn't go yet. They parted without another word, just a solemn hug.

That night, finally having conquered his sadness and fallen asleep, Connor had a dream.

"_I wish I could just take you back to Hawaii with me," Steve said with the good humor that never seemed to leave him, even in situations like this. They were standing underneath the tree in Steve's backyard._

"_Stay here or take me," Connor said in response. He would love to go there. He'd never been out of mid-western America before. "Please, just don't leave me." His bright blue eyes bored into Steve's brown ones, and Steve reached out to cup his face._

"_Con, I'd do anything to be with you forever." And Connor felt his heart leap twice as high as it had in the past. Steve's hands ran through blonde locks and pulled him closer. His eyelashes fluttered and he stumbled a little, his hands grabbing for a hold. He found the hold on Steve's hips. The two boys moved closer together, and finally their lips met. It was like an explosion, so sudden and spontaneous. They had to have seen it coming, but they couldn't imagine what it would be like. Steve's hands traveled down to Connor's back and he pulled him still nearer, and they pulled hungrily at each others' mouths, arms and chests struggling against each other with a lustful heat._

_They laid with each other, drifting off to sleep, and the heat of their bodies didn't seem to go away—when they awoke, the hot sun was beating down on them, and the sand was warm. Sounds of gulls and gently-crashing waves provided a serene white noise for the environment. They were sitting on a small atoll, alone, with no one else in the vicinity, in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Connor had never been to Hawaii before, but he'd seen pictures, and his mind filled in the rest._

"_We're here," Steve said, looking out into the waves. He stood and walked to the edge of the beach, dipping his toes in the water with a pleasant smile. He removed the polo shirt he was wearing; he had a tan, toned torso. Steve must have noticed Connor making eyes at him, because he pulled him to his feet and took off his shirt as well. Connor was embarrassed, but his confidence was restored when Steve told him he was beautiful._

_They swam in the nude; the warm salty water felt good on their skin. It seemed to wash away the shame they had. They sat on a sandbank as the sun set, casting a crimson glow on the sea. The sky grew dark and soft with stars, the water lapped at their collarbones, and they explored each other. They kissed, they touched. Steve handled Connor and made him feel amazing. Connor felt no regret, only longing for more._

_They experimented with each other—what happens when-oh yes—what happens when, YES!—and finally Connor was in Steve's lap on the warm beach, rocking back and forth just taking everything in, and he loved it. It was like the videos on the internet-oh, Lord how he prayed after watching those. They did the unspeakable, and Connor seemed to live every moment of it. He rejoiced and shouted into the sky, and he didn't care because it just felt so good-_

Connor woke with a shout, holding himself up by one shaking arm. His chest was rising and falling uncontrollably. He could barely breathe, and sweat dripped down his face and into his bangs. Worst of all, his groin burned—his boxers were soaked with semen, and his privates were aching. One hand was under the band of his boxers, having been carrying out the ill-doings; he snatched it away and wiped it disgustedly on his sheets. He felt as if he would need five consecutive hours of showering to cleanse himself. Tears sprang to his eyes; _not this again_, he thought, crying silently in the night and rocking back and forth. He couldn't let his mother hear him. _Oh Lord. Oh Lord, please. Oh God. _

But he was not crying because he had just suffered the most horrific nightmare possible, where he had betrayed God and committed a terrible, unforgivable sin.

He cried because he had just been immersed in the most wonderful, beautiful dream possible, and now he was awake.


	3. Dreams of Night

It was the day Steve left. Their SUV was parked in the driveway, filled to the brim with almost everything they could possibly pack. They had mailed all of their furniture to the house in Oahu beforehand. Connor sat on the curb, and Steve joined him. They were quiet for a while, listening to Steve's parents loading yet more cardboard boxes into the trunk of the vehicle.

Connor glanced at Steve every so often, but couldn't bring himself to actually look at him—the dream still lingered beneath his eyelids. He could replay the visions every time he blinked. The sunset, the waves, Steve's eyes searching up and down Connor. The pounding of the sea still beat against his eardrums.

The constant undulations were interrupted briefly by a call from Steve's mother: "Five minutes, sweetie, and then we really have to go." His parents went back into the house, double-checking to make sure they didn't leave anything.

Steve looked at Connor. Connor hesitated, and then met his gaze with a tremble.

"Is this…goodbye?" he asked softly, scooting a couple of inches closer to envelop his friend in a side-hug which, to his secret delight, was returned with full enthusiasm.

"I hope not, buddy," Steve replied, and ruffled Connor's strawberry hair. His heart might have leaped right out of his chest, with the agitation it was experiencing. Connor laid his head on Steve's shoulder and closed his eyes, breathing slowly. Steve had taken a shower this morning. He smelled like coconuts and hibiscus—he smelled like last night.

"You'll keep in touch, won't you?"

"Of course I will! I'd never forget you, Con." Steve smiled.

Connor's eyes traveled up to Steve's face. "You promise?" He held out his pinky. Steve took it with a laugh and held it tight.

"I promise," he whispered. Connor's lips were tightly pursed to keep him from grinning, crying and laughing all at the same time. He escaped the pinky embrace and laced his fingers with Steve's, looking at their connected hands. But Steve shrugged slightly, his own hand limp, and pulled it away. Connor removed his head from its resting place and looked at Steve, confused.

"That's…a little weird, man." Steve said honestly, with an awkward chuckle.

At first the impact of the words froze Connor's insides, but then once they had sunk in, a shudder ran down his spine. Weird? He was just…

Oh. Right.

"Steve…" he said. When he leaned forward, Steve indicated with his body language that he wasn't interested in any physical contact at the moment. Connor pulled back and looked down. "I…I had a dream last night." He found that his throat was dry; he couldn't speak another word, so he just choked out "about you" in a whisper. Steve raised a single eyebrow.

"And? I had a dream we went to the mall last Thursday. What's the big deal?"

"Because…my dream was…kind of, you know…romantic…"

As soon as the word reached his ears, Steve recoiled with a slight look of horror. "What…what does that even mean?" he asked in disbelief.

"Don't look at me that way. I can't explain it!" Connor said defensively, raising his hands. "Well, we…uh…I guess we kind of _did it_." He tensed, waiting for the blow, but threw his hand over Steve's face when he began to protest and silenced him. The look in his friend's eyes was one of rage, growing more and more fervid with each word, and Connor combated it with a stern glare of his own.

It was time to tell the truth, time to stand up for his harbored feelings. Too long he'd tried to tell himself that they could only be friends. But he was in love with Steve Blade, and he wasn't going to let him fly off into paradise without knowing.

"We did it and we _liked_ it," he whispered with an air of utter gravity.

Steve looked about ready to stand up and walk away. Then he stared at the street, frozen. Finally, he said: "You can't do this, Con. It's not right."

"I know it's not what they tell us is right, but doesn't it _feel_ right?" Connor took Steve's hands in his own with a sweet smile and held them tight, so that there was no chance of escape.

"No, Connor. It doesn't feel right." He looked him in the eye. "We were meant to be friends, and only that. I don't care if it's what Heavenly Father wants or not—it's not what I want." He gave Connor's hands back to him and let go, standing up and ignoring the dejected look on Connor's face.

Tears welled up in the redhead's bright blue eyes, and he sprang to his feet to grab Steve's arm as he walked towards the SUV.

"What do you want?" Steve exclaimed suddenly, fed up and impatient. Connor loosened his hold, but then leaped into him, wrapping his arms around him in a squeeze.

"I want you to stay. Don't go," he said, softly and simply. "I wrote you a song. You still need to hear it."

"My flight's scheduled. I'm going."

"But"—Connor squeaked through sniffles—"I—l-love you."

He couldn't see Steve's eyes, but he felt from the softening in his posture that he wasn't the only one crying. Steve hugged him, and for a few seconds they stood, sobbing in each other's warm embrace. It was genuine emotion. Steve loved him too, in the way a brother or father would love. But not in the way Connor could ever ask for. When they broke apart, Steve rubbed his eyes and said with a sad tone: "I'm sorry the last time-we saw each other-had to be like this."

Connor began to protest, but Steve put a hand on his head, and continued. "Try to find help, and… it's been really awesome knowing you."

He smiled as best he could, but he couldn't hold it for long, and soon he found himself frowning as he entered the car. It was impossible to look into those azure eyes again, those eyes which had followed his every move for months. He hadn't noticed. Not at all. Still, out of his peripheral vision, he watched Connor collapse to his knees on the front lawn with a pleading, desperate look on his face. He had the words "I love you" still repeating over and over again on his lips, and when he lowered his head to the ground Steve could swear he felt a painful jab somewhere in his chest.

His parents got into the car, and looked back cheerfully at him as the engine started. Upon seeing his tearful state, his mother said sympathetically: "Oh, honey, I'm sorry. But you'll see your old friends when we get back home. There's nothing to be sad about."

Just when they were exiting the driveway, his father laughed. "You know, with all that huggin' and cryin' and stuff, if I didn't know better I'd think you two were a couple a' homos or somethin'." He waved to Connor as they drove past him.

Connor heard the voice through the open window, and raised his head to watch the car roll by. At the last minute, just before they turned the corner, Steve twisted back to get a good look at those blue eyes once more.

And once the car was long gone, and probably halfway to Hawaii, for all Connor cared, he curled up on the grass. Once night had fallen and the cold began to set in, he pulled his hood over his head and chattered his teeth around the name "Steve."

And he began to dream again.


End file.
